Draco's POV:

"Harry Potter has blue eyes," Lucius sneered, advancing towards my Lizzie, the slow footsteps emanating from his impeccably shiny shoes echoing in my ears.

"Lucius," Mother warned, her voice sharp yet soft. She walked up to the enraged man and put a gentle yet firm hand on his arm, which he roughly shook off with a withering glance in her direction. She backed off slightly, knowing that there was nothing that she could say to stop him, but she remained prepared should she need to step in. No one knew better than the two of us the extent of Lucius' temper.

"This man isn't Harry Potter. He has green eyes. Harry Potter has blue eyes," he seethed, getting too close to Lizzie. I saw her flinch away from him and watched the specks of spit that flew from his mouth.

Seeing Lizzie flinch away from Lucius was the last straw. I stepped between him and Lizzie, pushing her behind my back. "That's enough," I snapped. Lizzie doesn't flinch. She doesn't cower away from people. She was the type who would fight back, biting out a cutthroat comeback or throwing a spell or fists.

"Step aside, Draco," Lucius fumed, his silver eyes flashing with something dangerous. "This is a matter between me and Miss Samuels."

"I will not 'step aside'," I countered with a firmness in my voice that let him know I wasn't about to back down from this fight. Squaring my shoulders, I prepared myself for what I knew was coming.

Lucius drew his wand and flicked it at me, causing ropes to lace around my body, binding my arms behind my back and immobilizing my legs. With another flick, he threw me to the wall, my head hitting with a sickening crack and causing the world to blur.

Mother made a noise of indignancy and hurried to my side, throwing a boiling glare into Lucius' direction as if willing him to burst into flames. It was in that moment that I knew her allegiance had changed.

"We just lost our best chance at Harry Potter because you claimed that Harry Potter has blue eyes," he hissed. "Why don't we just see what the Dark Lord has to say about Harry Potter's blue eyes." Lucius ripped his sleeve up, exposing the patch of pale skin that was darkened by the mark of a murderous bastard.

"Lucius," my mother said shrilly, standing and facing the man. "Do you realize-"

"SILENT!" he roared, pressing his wand to his Mark.

I felt the skin of my left forearm begin to slither and crawl as if an actual snake was moving underneath of my skin.

Before the monstrous beast arrived, the ropes of consciousness slipped from my grasp and I plunged into the dark pit of black, begging whatever deity was out there that Lizzie would be okay when I woke.

-----

When I finally regained the ability to open my eyes, the first thing I knew was pain. I could feel it radiating from the back of my head in waves, drawing a moan from my mouth.

The second thing I knew was that I was in my bedroom. I could feel the soft material of my bedsheets underneath of me.

The third thing I knew was that Lizzie wasn't in the bed beside me, and the thought of that gave me an odd feeling in my stomach, like when one is swimming and tries to put their feet down but it's deeper than anticipated and the ground isn't there.

The fourth thing I knew was the realization of what had happened in the Drawing Room. I sat bolt upright and darted to my door, not caring about the black spots that spun across my vision or the explosion of pain that made me want to collapse.

My bare feet padded down the stairs, taking me directly to the Sitting Room, where my mother sat in a black dress, reading a novel and drinking tea.

"Draco-" she said, putting the book down and standing up upon seeing me.

"Where is she?" I rushed, knowing I sounded and looked absolutely desperate but not caring. I needed to find her.

"Draco-"

"Don't 'Draco' me!" I snapped, making her flinch. "Where is she?"

"The Drawing Room, but, Draco-" she called after me as I took off towards the Drawing Room.

I skidded around the corner and threw open the door to the Drawing Room.

The first thing I knew was that I wasn't alone in the room.

The second thing I knew was that Lizzie was in the room.

The third thing I knew was that something about her wasn't right.

The fourth thing I knew was that Voldemort was there.

"Ahhh, Draco," he breathed slowly, looking at me with eyes filled with evil. "Have you come for your dear Lizzie?" He waved a hand to his right where Lizzie was.

I choked on a sob as I realized what was wrong. She was floating. She was in a bubble of silvery strands. Her arms floating out limply to her sides, her head lolling like dead weight, her hair swirling around her head like water. Blood still coated her face from when Lucius broke her nose.

"No," I cried under my breath, my voice not wanting to work. "No, Lizzie."

It couldn't be.

She couldn't be dead.

Not after all we had gone through.

We were meant to be together to the end.

It was too soon.

My Lizzie.

"She's not dead," he cackled, as if reading my mind. "Though she might wish she was."

"Let her go, please," I begged, tears dripping from my eyes. "Please, take me instead. I'll do anything."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Lizzie has wronged me and must learn what happens to those who stray," he hissed.

"I'm begging you," I whispered.

"Do not beg," he snapped, making me jump. "Do not fret for this traitor. She will be freed before you return to Hogwarts in four days time. In the meantime, you might learn a lesson from this girl. Do not cross me." His eyes flashed before he disapparated, the crack making me leap.

At the realization that the monster had left me alone, I sprinted forward, stopping by Lizzie and her magical encasement.

"What the bloody hell has he done to you?" I whispered, the tears falling more freely. I placed my hand on the hard surface of the magic bubble, the cool outside making tendrils of ice shoot up my arm and wrap around my heart..

I brought my fist down on the cage, hardly feeling the pain that came from the impact.

"WHAT. HAS. HE. DONE!" I roared, allowing everything - grief, anger, despair - to pour out as I slammed my fist down even harder before collapsing onto the hard floor, holding my head in my hands and sobbing. "What have I done?"

I didn't want to move. I didn't want to open my eyes. Because with them closed I could see everything.

Her eyes bore into mine with a new type of perplexity that I admired. She had taken her hair out of the hair-do she had done for the ball and it now fell in loose curls that rested on her shoulders.

The sunlight was shining through the open curtains and lighting the room up with a bright light. The air around me felt relaxed and, dare I say, happy. My left arm was draped over Liz's waist and she lay snuggled up into my chest, her warmth mixing with mine and keeping us both warm. I could feel her warm breath on my chest, sending shivers down my spine. Her deep grey eyes were opened and staring up at me.

-----

It was fifth year all over again. Lizzie was unconscious and there was nothing I could do to wake her. But instead of Pansy, it was me. It was my fault she was trapped in that awful bubble. I should have fought harder. I should have killed that bastard of a father when I had the chance. Then Lizzie would be here with me instead off locked away in a floating prison.

I tried every spell I knew using my mother's wand since Potter had taken mine, attempting to shatter the case that held her captive, but nothing made a crack in the starry, transparent bubble. I thumbed through book after book, searching for anything about floating bubbles, but there was nothing. I tried to fight my way through the forcefield, kicking and punching and throwing things, but I only succeeded in breaking a few fingers and a lot of chairs.

I spent days sitting in one of the few chairs that I had dragged into the room and not thrown at the bubble and just watching Lizzie or sobbing.

She was still beautiful despite her blood caked face, crooked nose, and deathlike paleness. She was still the girl of my dreams and not being able to reach her put a crack in my heart. I longed to reach a hand through the wall that separated us and place a hand on her cheek or run my fingers through her ratty hair.

I read to her sometimes. Though I was sure she couldn't hear me, my voice droned on and on. When we finished that book about the green witch, I began to read La Belle et La Betê, but I couldn't get more than a page out before breaking down, thinking about the first time we had read it and the dance we had shared as she had sung a song from the muggle movie version.

I swore that if Potter didn't kill Voldemort, I would. And I would make it the most painful death possible for all that he had done to my family.